The Road to Paradise

by Karen Barnett

The bear snorted, hunching its shoulders and sniffing the air. The four giant paws shuffled out onto the dirt trail, the main route leading to the Inn.

  Retracing the trail system in her mind, Margie moved up the slope. She could loop around the far side of the developed area and avoid troubling the animal any further. She typically walked her groups this way because of the varied flowers, but several paths crisscrossed the vicinity.

  The bruin lowered its head, the smell of the huckleberries more enticing than that of a solitary woman. Standing midpath, it snuffled its way through the feast.

  Margie started back up the hill, her encounter with the wild buoying her growing sense of accomplishment. She’d already learned so much. Superintendent Brown probably hadn’t realized how inept she was when she arrived, luggage in hand, or he’d never have allowed her to stay. Most of the items she’d brought had proven useless. She picked her way along the ridgeline, the bear growing small in the distance. Shrugging the bag higher on her shoulder, Margie wound her way over the hill and down to the next patch of trees.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d lost herself in the memory of dancing with Ford when she came upon a fork in the trail. Margie hesitated. She hadn’t wandered this far from the Inn alone before. One path dipped down the hill, the other traversing over a short ridge to the east. Which led back? Her stomach sank. She’d left her compass and map back in her room. A quick flower walk didn’t require orienteering.

  She’d climbed to get to this point, so the downward route made more sense. She quickened her pace. Ranger Jennings would be annoyed if she kept him waiting too long. He had evening plans with one of the housekeepers from the National Park Inn.

  Tonight she’d add this most recent sighting to her journal. This summer had been a boon to her life lists—she’d checked off eighteen mammals, fifteen birds, and two amphibians. Margie had already claimed the shaggy creature, since she’d seen it performing for scraps, but this viewing seemed far more legitimate. Perhaps she’d scratch out the former date and change it to this one.

  A Clark’s nutcracker swooped low overhead, darting into a nearby grove of firs. As she dropped in elevation, the trees reached higher above her head, casting longer shadows in the late-afternoon light. The thick foliage must be blocking her view of the Inn.

  The trail swerved to the left just past the trees. Margie slowed, enjoying her last moments of solitude. She cleared the trees and stopped. A shimmering blue lake reflected the deep sapphire sky—exactly where the Paradise Inn was supposed to be.

  Margie’s breath caught in her chest. If she didn’t find her way soon…No. Don’t think about it. Just hurry. The Inn couldn’t be far. She checked the angle of the sun. Perhaps slightly more to the west? She’d just misjudged the trail. With a direct route, she could still reach Paradise before Jennings left.

  Margie set out over the meadow, cringing each time she crushed one of the fragile plants under her shoe. If the hour weren’t so late, she’d retrace her steps along the main path. But she had no desire to be out here after dark.

  Ford steered the truck around the final curve on the Paradise road, the mountain looming into view just ahead. At breakfast, Mrs. Brown had dropped the hint that Margie would be joining her for dinner—in case Ford wanted to stop by. The long afternoon spent directing traffic at the Nisqually entrance had given Ford ample time to make plans. He couldn’t keep avoiding Margie forever. His heart couldn’t take it.

  Rather than just stop by at dinner, Ford was determined to do one better. He’d intercept her at Paradise. The drive to Longmire would give them time to talk. Whatever had happened between them, he wanted to set things right. Even if she’d decided not to pursue a romance, it would be nice if they could at least be friends.

  Jennings glanced up as Ford burst into the Paradise ranger station. “What are you doing here, boss?”

  Ford shut the door behind him. “I wanted to catch Margie before you two headed down the mountain.”

  The naturalist leaned on the long counter. “She’s out on the trail somewhere, but I wanted to leave an hour ago.” He pulled a watch out of his pocket. “Gertie will be hot under the collar. I was supposed to meet her for a late picnic by the river.”

  “Margie probably got sidetracked. You know what she’s like when she’s looking at plants.”

  “Doesn’t help me with Gert.”

  Ford folded his arms. “I can drive her. You go on ahead.”

  A smile spread across Jennings’s face. “Thanks, Ford. I didn’t want to leave Margie stranded, but…” Without even finishing his statement, he shot out the door. At least someone was sure of some romance tonight.

  Margie never went far—there were too many flowers to distract her. What had intrigued her this time? The image of the woman sitting cross-legged on the trail, sketching some minuscule weed, brought a smile to his face.

  Ford tipped his hat to a group of visitors as he headed up the steep slope behind the Guide House. The best blooms were usually to the north, along the Alta Vista Trail. She wouldn’t have gone as far as Panorama Point. Chances were he’d encounter her heading back. Even though she’d arrived in the park pretty green, he’d discovered over the past two months that she didn’t lack for common sense. Still, a trickle of unease spilled through his chest. She knew of Jennings’s plans. It wasn’t like her to show casual disregard for one of the men.

  A sharp whistle rang through the evening sky, the marmot’s call echoing through the clusters of stubby subalpine trees. Ford glanced to the left and right as he walked, his mind wandering to places where his heart didn’t want to go. If she was preoccupied with her botany, he wouldn’t put it past her to misstep and end up injured…or worse. He quickened his pace as the fading evening light colored the sky with orange and purple.

  Reaching a high point, he scanned the slope below as it spread out like an apron all the way to the Inn and the campground. The jagged Tatoosh range and Pinnacle Peak dominated the horizon. Margie was nowhere to be seen. This isn’t right. Where else would she go? Not as far as Glacier Vista, surely. Wrapping his fingers around his mouth, he called out her name and listened to the echo carrying his voice far beyond his reach.

  More whistles greeted him, as though the tubby mammals continued the call. If only they could give him a hint. Ford pulled off his hat and ran fingers through his hair. Should he return to the ranger station and get up some volunteers for a search? He pressed on, winding farther up the hill.

  No matter what he did, this woman always seemed one step away from disaster.

  Margie pulled the cardigan snug around her shoulders as she scrambled toward the tree line, hoping for a glimpse of Paradise. She’d been a fool to leave the trail. Who gets lost in the subalpine? You can see for miles.

  Darkness crept across the forested landscape, and with every footstep, Margie raced it to the higher slopes. She’d packed her knapsack with flower books instead of maps or survival equipment. This was supposed to be a short nature walk with the Mountaineers, not an overnight stay by herself. The thin alpine air tore at her lungs, slowing her pace. Would Ranger Jennings come searching for her? His romantic evening would be ruined. She was just getting on a good footing with the staff, and now she’d be the source of more ridicule.

  Margie stopped for a breath and turned to survey the scenery. The mountain above had pulled on a colorful wardrobe of purple and blue in the dim light. As long as the mountain remained in view, she wasn’t truly lost, just disoriented. Paradise couldn’t be far.

  She wrapped her fingers around her elbows, hugging them close to her chest as a chilled breeze swept past. A few hours ago, Margie had been marveling at her own strength and accomplishment. Now she was at the mercy of the elements. No matter how much she loved Rainier’s wildness, it didn’t harbor the same protectiveness for her. Hadn’t Ford warned her of such?

  Her hero, John Muir, had spent weeks and months rambling the High Sierra. Margie closed her eyes, the expansive view overwhelming her senses. Lord,
help me find my way. I love Your creation, but I’m not ready to spend the night alone out here. A gentle breeze lifted the ends of her hair, bringing the lush smell of the heather. She took a deep breath, thankful for her slowing heartbeat. God was present, even out here in the dark. Scripture floated into her mind, and she whispered the familiar words to the wind: “The darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.”

  Margie pushed on a little farther, but the light was fading too fast to continue. Pulling off her knapsack, she checked its contents—three books, a small canteen, and a wool scarf. She wrapped the scarf around her neck and took a sip of water. If only she could trade the books for a compass. And what sort of outdoorsman goes into the mountains without a jacket and any navigation tools?

  Margie sheltered next to a tight cluster of stubby subalpine firs, groaning as she sat down. She pulled her knees close and hugged them. She’d come to Rainier with the fantasy of finding refuge in God’s creation, but she knew nothing of survival. Perhaps a night in the outdoor world was just what God had in mind to lead her into the next great adventure. Margie sighed and lifted her eyes to scan the darkening world. That or prove her dream was nothing but foolish girlhood fantasies.

  If Ford were here he’d whip together a log shelter, start a fire, and have them toasty warm in less than fifteen minutes. Of course, he wouldn’t have been in this situation to begin with. Maybe it was better not to let her mind go down that track. Imagining a night alone with Ford as the only source of warmth would do nothing to protect her already wavering heart. Tears squeezed between her eyelids. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

  Margie ground her boot heel against the dirt. It was too late to climb back down to the forest for better cover. Trapped here at the edge of the tree line, she’d face a chilly night. Still, it was safer than stumbling along in the dark.

  And after all, she had her books to keep her warm.

  Ford trotted back into Paradise just as the last glimmers of light dipped below the western horizon. The Inn’s lights cast a welcoming glow over the small development. Hopefully Margie was there.

  The lobby echoed with the soft sounds of conversations and piano music. He pulled off his hat and strode toward the front desk.

  Luke glanced up from the register book with a smile. “Ford, I haven’t seen you in weeks. What brings you in?”

  Ford dropped his Stetson on the counter. “I’m looking for Margie.”

  Luke’s brows drew together. “She took the Mountaineers club out this afternoon, but they returned on schedule. The spokeswoman even stopped by the front desk to compliment us on Margie’s tour.”

  Ford’s heart dropped. He’d hoped Luke would laugh and point him toward the dining room where Margie would be waiting. “Jennings expected her by five o’clock.”

  The caretaker glanced toward the wall clock. “That was hours ago.” He shook his head. “She’s a smart girl, Ford. She wouldn’t do anything foolish.”

  “I know, but things happen. Even to the best of us.”

  A shadow crossed his friend’s face. “Of course. Perhaps she got turned around. I could round up some of the busboys and outfit them with lanterns.”

  Ford took a deep breath, filling his chest. “I’ve already walked the entire Skyline Trail to Panorama Point. There was no sign of her.”

  Luke closed the book and set it to the side. “Perhaps she went down to Narada Falls or Deadhorse Creek? Or south along the Lakes Trail?”

  “That’s the trouble. There are too many choices.” She’s fallen somewhere or gotten herself lost. Ford clamped his fingers along the edge of the desk, refusing to entertain any darker thoughts. “She might show up any minute.”

  “It would make more sense to wait for daylight.”

  “Yes. It would. I’ll check in with you first thing. If she hasn’t shown by then, I’ll put together a search.” Ford grabbed his hat.

  Luke nodded. “I’m sure some of the boys will want to go along. We’ve got some budding rangers amongst the group this year.” He wrinkled his nose. “Unlike the ones Carmichael’s brought in.”

  “Carmichael?” Ford’s breath caught. “Already?”

  The manager’s eyes widened. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what, exactly?”

  Luke leaned forward across the wooden counter. “Groundbreaking begins tomorrow.”

  “Not possible. I would have been informed.”

  Luke shrugged. “That’s what the man said. Claimed he had the superintendent’s signature, too.”

  “Even if that’s true, why would they break ground now? They can’t finish anything before the snow flies. It’s August already.”

  “Don’t ask me; I just work here. And I won’t even be doing that for long, from the sounds of things.”

  Ford loosened his tie, the collar suddenly chafing at his neck. Carmichael had been silent too long. He should have realized the man was up to something.

  Margie gritted her teeth, the constant shivering making every muscle ache. She pressed her back against the stubby tree, its skirt of stiff limbs pulled over her legs. The temperature had continued to drop through the night, though she was pretty sure it was still above freezing. The dry weather was a godsend. If she’d been soaked through, she might have succumbed to exposure. She pushed the frightening thought away.

  The darkness teemed with sounds, and her imagination kept busy attempting to identify them. Was a wolf prowling through the meadow waiting for her to fall asleep? Ford had said there weren’t many wolves left in the park, thanks to the predator control program. She’d informed him how much she hated the idea of the rangers shooting the beautiful creatures. Now that she might face one, she was less sure—even if it was only her mind playing tricks. She rubbed her fingers together, then wrapped them in her scarf.

  A sound crackled in the gloom just a few feet away, sending her heart pounding. It’s just a creature scampering through the brush. Like Archibald. She swallowed. Poor Archibald. Had he escaped the flames? She buried her head in her arms and recited every small mammal she could remember from her life list. Would it count if she only heard them?

  After many hours wrestling with her thoughts, she dozed, still twitching at every sound. She finally woke to the first glimmers of dawn cresting the ridge to the east, spilling over the valley with warming fingers of light. Margie unfolded her knees, stretched her stiffened limbs and crawled out into the open. She pressed her fingers against her mouth and blew warm air across the chilled skin.

  Margie’s side ached where a limb had pressed itself against her ribs. Maybe she wasn’t fit for the wilderness life. At least Thoreau had a cabin in Walden. She didn’t even have that anymore.

  She glanced out over the valley, and her breath caught in her chest. The colors of dawn tinted the valley like an oil painting. A black-tailed doe and her two fawns nibbled at the foliage on the meadow’s edge. Margie lowered herself to the ground as her heart overflowed. Her eyes could only take in so much beauty at once and the overload brought an ache to her chest.

  A wisp of smoke rose above the ridge to the west, and Margie clambered back to her feet. Could it be the Paradise Inn? Or possibly the campground? She gathered her books and crammed them into her bag.

  Her joints limbered as she walked, her steps lighter than they had been for days. Let the men laugh at her. She’d survived a night alone in the wilderness. After a brief scramble up the ridge, she stared down the far slope. The Paradise Valley spread below her—the Inn, the Guide House, the ranger station, and the campground. Margie dropped down to her knees. All this time, she’d been less than a thirty-minute walk away from where she needed to be.

  A shrieking mechanical whistle—quite different than the typical marmot calls—pierced the quiet morning. Margie lifted her head, staring down toward the Inn. A large piece of equipment sat near the Guide House sending puffs of steam rising into the air. She jumped up as a fresh wave of chills draped over he
r. A machine like that had no place in a fragile alpine meadow.

  The sick feeling that had plagued Ford the entire night followed him up the hillside as he pushed ahead of the group. Margie hadn’t returned. No one had seen her since yesterday afternoon. If it were one of the rangers, he’d be only mildly concerned. But Margie? His stomach tightened. There could be no good reason for her to be gone overnight. She was lying hurt somewhere. That was the only explanation. She’d fallen, been attacked by a mountain lion, gotten hopelessly lost—or perhaps all three.

  Searchers fanned out at first light with groups heading down each of the trails leading away from Paradise. Since he’d already walked the Skyline Trail, he planned to work his way across to the Lakes Trail. He couldn’t envision any situation that would drive Margie upward toward the snowfields. If she’d gotten disoriented, she’d head downslope. Wouldn’t she?

  Seeing the steam shovel waiting in the parking area had nearly sent him over the edge. Carmichael couldn’t have received approval already, but apparently reporters were present from three different newspapers to cover the groundbreaking. The man’s slick nature seemed capable of greasing wheels Ford never even knew existed.

  As soon as he got back, Ford’s first task would be to telephone the superintendent. But Margie came first.

  Memories of the massive search following his father’s death flashed through his mind. The idea of losing someone else to this mountain sat on his chest like a boulder, making every breath difficult. He hadn’t slept last night, sitting up in the lobby and silently begging Margie to come trudging through the door.

  He looked up from the path in time to see a small figure scrambling over the ridge top and dropping down toward the trail. Ford accelerated to a slow jog, his heart rocketing upward as he confirmed Margie moving toward him.

  She hurried along the path, her hat crushed in one hand and her clothes dusty and trail-worn. She’d never looked so beautiful. Her voice met him twelve feet before she did. “What is that thing in my meadow?”